


Mine is the Fury

by Dovahgriin (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Minor Character Death, Multi, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dovahgriin
Summary: A collection of mini-fics within one larger fic following the (mis)adventures of Cassana Baratheon.This is a Game of Thrones/ASOIAF fic, know your limits.[Indefinite hiatus]





	1. Chapter 1

一*一*一*一

King’s Landing, 298 AC

一*一*一*一

The Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, burst through the door of the King’s bedchambers, where he was assaulted by the sickly scent of death. Inside, the Queen and her brood did not even turn to acknowledge him, solemn and silent, already in mourning. Eddard glanced them over.

Cersei stood tall, ever the proud, golden lion of Lannister, her hands trembling and eyes wet. Ned knew there was no love between she and Robert, and the tears had him both on edge and sympathizing with her. Joffrey stood beside the bed, candlelight reflecting like sunlight in his golden 一 _Lannister_ 一 curls. He looked stricken and terrified in turn, green 一 _Lannister_ 一 eyes wide. Myrcella clutched at her mother’s richly embroidered skirts, tears silently dripping down her face. Tommen, on the other hand, clung to his eldest sister’s hip, face pale at the sight of his mighty father, the Stag of Baratheon, King of the Iron Throne, brought so low. His face was dry, like his brother and mother’s, but he looked to be on the verge of tears.

Cassana 一 the eldest, the firstborn, the _trueborn_ 一 was free with her grief. Her nose was red, rubbed raw, and her glaucous eyes were ruddy from where she’d wiped at them. Her dark, dark hair hung limply in the simple style she’d worn it in. Ned couldn’t help but picture Robert after receiving the news that Lyanna, the She-Wolf of Winterfell, was dead.

“You lot, clear out!” Robert’s once-boisterous voice was thin with pain as he lifted a hand to dismiss his family and guard. His eldest daughter sent one last look at her father before exiting the room behind her mother and siblings. Jaime Lannister hesitated. Robert snorted, “Ned’s hardly going to kill me, Kingslayer. The boar’s already done as much.”

Jaime left. Robert turned to Ned, who had lowered himself into a chair at the king’s bedside.

“Now, Ned, I want you to listen carefully. I _need_ you to listen to me. Hear me now, et cetera,” Robert coughed wetly, blood on his lips. “My heir, my son, is not fit to rule. You know that, I know that, Cersei and the whole lot of them bloody well know that. Joffrey is a little shit and will make a terrible king. I want一” he coughs deeply, then groans in pain, hand going to the wound in his side. “I want my daughter to inherit.”

Ned’s brows raised. It was not unheard of for a monarch to name a daughter as heir, but it was unusual as Robert had two healthy, legitimate sons (not that he knew they weren’t his, but that didn’t matter, not when he’d be dead within the week, according to Maester Pycelle).

“Which daughter, Robert?” Ned pressed. He needed for the King to say it on his own, so that there was no misunderstanding or misinterpretating it.

“By the gods, Ned, Cassana, of course. Myrcella is too young to inherit, by far.” Robert paused, then added as an afterthought, “She is a good lass, though. Make sure she’s protected when I’m gone, aye?”

Eddard Stark wrote down Robert’s wishes, quill tip scratching against the parchment. When he had finished, Ned lay the parchment on the bedside table, next to the milk-of-the-poppy. He helped Robert sit up, then handed him the somewhat rushed final testament. Robert mumbled under his breath as he used the quill to sign it.

“I, Robert Baratheon, First of my Name, do hereby declare… Cassana Baratheon, my firstborn child, to be my… lawful and rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne.” He paused, coughed again, and then looked to Ned with a wry grin. His teeth were red. “One last time to try and blindside the Lions, eh?”

Ned didn’t respond, but he did smile grimly. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye, Robert. One last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it is NOT CLEAR, Cassana is the **_TRUEBORN_** daughter of Cersei and Robert. She has dark hair and blue-grey eyes. 
> 
> This is also very much a self indulgent fix-it fic and it would do well for you all to remember that. Skimming won’t work well for you in this story, so either buckle down and read it in its entirety OR don’t read it at all kthx :)
> 
> \- quote Dovahgriin, Irritated Author


	2. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afternoon in the palace gardens is interrupted by a most unexpected and unwelcome visitor.

“Lord Commander?”

Barristan Selmy looks up from his work, then stands to his feet with a start, knocking into his desk and spilling ink onto the wooden surface (not his papers, thank the Seven). He bows deeply. “My queen.”

Cassana Baratheon looks deeply unnerved by this, he notes as he straightens his neck. “Please, don't call me that. Not yet.” She raises a hand when Barristan goes to speak. “I have not yet been coronated — I am not yet queen,” Cassana pauses, meeting his eyes. “If you cannot call me as you once did when I was a child, ‘my lady’ will work.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Cassana sighs. “I was hoping, Ser Barristan, that you would accompany me to the palace gardens? I cannot seem to find the other Kingsguard,” she frowns thoughtfully. “Or would it be a Queensguard now?”

Barristan Selmy softens in the face of Cassana’s confused musings. “I would be honored to do so, my lady.”

Cassana’s grin lights up her whole face. “Excellent!”

The Marcher holds his arm out for his young queen after sliding his longsword into its sheath at his hip. Cassana places her hand in the crook of the Lord Commander’s arm and together the two make their way to the gardens.

Cassana chatters like a blue jay, indicating places that she’d explored as a child with her free hand. (Because, really, she can no longer be a child—she has the fate of a kingdom resting on her shoulders.) Her companion nods at the appropriate times, making noises of acknowledgement when needed.

“Lord Commander, this is my new handmaiden, Ophelia.” Barristan looks to Cassana’s other side and nods to the young woman that had joined them some time ago. The young woman inclines her head in return, but her eyes are hard, like chips of flint in an otherwise kind face. Barristan narrows his own eyes at her; something is off, but he doesn’t know what. He resolves to keep a close eye on the girl.

They walk for a bit more until they arrive at the rose garden; a gift from the Tyrells from when King Robert married Cersei Lannister. Cassana releases Barristan’s arm as she drops to her knees before the only bush with blue roses — _winter roses_ , the Lord Commander remembers. He stands off to the side, but not far enough away that he cannot reach his charge if something were to happen.

And happen something did.

The handmaiden begins moving towards Cassana slowly, so slowly that Barristan almost doesn’t notice it at first. Then Ophelia is pulling a glinting knife out of her bodice and moving almost too fast. Barristan lets out a yell and draws his sword, moving between Cassana and the would-be assassin. The young queen lets out a shriek and scrambles back, the skin on her hands catching and tearing as she grasps at thorny branches.

Ophelia gasps and drops her knife as Barristan’s sword goes through her belly. Cassana goes pale, but stands and catches the would-be assassin as she falls. She stumbles under the weight, but doesn’t drop Ophelia. Blood bubbles on the handmaiden’s lips as she chokes, hurriedly whispering something to Cassana. Barristan watches as Cassana first goes red, then white. Her eyes are impossibly wide when she looks up at him.

“Give her a quick death. Please.” Barristan pulls out a narrow blade and slides it between Ophelia’s ribs. The handmaiden gives a small gasp, then dies. Cassana grimaces at the blood, setting down the corpse. She sways a little. The Lord Commander catches her by the waist before she falls. She mutters under her breath, words just barely at an audible level.

“She was sent by my mother.”

 


	3. Remembering the Water Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Cassana chat about the machinations of courtiers and the royal family of Dorne.

Cassana looks up from her little writing desk as her silver queen glides into her rooms. Daenerys looks exhausted, and dismisses her guard and handmaidens.

“Tell me, Lady Baratheon, tell me true; is our home like this? All the political maneuvering, the backstabbing, the bribes and whispers?” Her amethyst eyes search Cassana’s.

“I’m afraid so, my queen. King’s Landing is a nest of vipers dressed in samite. Though… my _mother_ may have more to do with that then the actual city.” Her heart rages for a moment, furious with the woman who bore her into this world, the woman who was meant to protect and nurture her, the woman who passed her over as soon as she had a perfect (insane) son with perfect golden curls. Daenerys watches her guest’s blue eyes harden into steel.

“That is unfortunate. I’d hoped… never mind what I’d hoped. Courts are all the same, it seems.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to dismiss all courts, my queen. Dorne still maintains some level of respectability, if nothing unduly terrible has happened since I last was there.” _Which was over seven years ago,_ Cass thinks. _But that doesn’t matter right now._ Daenerys sinks onto a plush settee, her fingers stroking the Myrish lace along the edge.

“Tell me of my good-brothers and their families, Lady Baratheon.”

“I, um,” Cassana stutters for a moment, caught off-guard by the sudden change in subject. “Prince Doran is a kind man. The Wise, they call him. He doesn’t hold children responsible for the sins of the father. I didn’t spend much time with his daughter, Arianne, but… she was _beautiful_ , even at six-and-ten.

“Prince Martell’s sons were my playmates, for however brief a time. I remember playing in the ponds at the Water Gardens with Quentyn and Trystane… it’s one of my fondest memories. Quent and I tried to catch frogs to hide in people’s beds, as a prank.” Cassana huffs a laugh at the memory, her eyes far, far away as the laughter of children echoes in her mind. The silver-haired queen watches the Baratheon girl, a small smile curving the edges of her lips slightly upwards.

“And what of Oberyn Martell, my lady?” Cassana shakes herself minutely, dispersing the foggy memories.

“Right. I didn’t see too much of Prince Doran’s younger brother, but I did meet several of his daughters. The Sand Snakes, the people call them.” She pauses, and sips at the sweet wine on her desk.

“The eldest was already a fully-flowered woman by then, but I remember Nymeria, Tyene and Sarella playing with us in the water, even though they were several years older…” Cassana once again pauses, this time blushing deeply. Daenerys’ eyebrows rise. It seems that playing in the water wasn't the only thing the Baratheon princess got up to in Dorne, she muses.

“... And that’s the whole of what I remember of Dorne, my queen.” Cassana finishes, her blush dying down. Her eyes have fallen to her hands, focusing on the ink stains on her fingers. Daenerys stands, then, aware that if she were to press, it would only result in incoherent stutters and apple-red cheeks.

“Thank you for your time, Lady Baratheon.”

“The honor was mine, my queen.”


End file.
